Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
I guess he’s now technically my swoony psycho husband. Argh.
As the movers were coming in with the last box, there was a grocery delivery, so I got to cooking and saved food for Derek, not realizing it would get me a reaction even bigger than when I made him a sandwich.
He looked so warmed by the fact that I did something as simple as consider he might be hungry. And somewhere in his travels yesterday, he went out and bought me books. Books I’d have bought for myself. Because he pays attention. And I’m annoyed by how much I liked that he did that.
Yes, he pays attention. He tries to anticipate what might make me happy. He looks at me like I’m his dream girl. He fucks me like he can’t get enough. And like he wants me to enjoy it even more than he wants to enjoy it. But he also wants to enjoy it. And he does. He makes sure we both get off. And then snuggles my feet on the couch while he watches TV and eats the food I made, as if tacos are the most gourmet and delicious thing ever. I woke up with his strong, warm hand on my foot and then drifted off again.
Then I wake up again being carried to bed with him looking at me while he carries me like I’m precious. Something wonky happens in my belly whenever he carries me somewhere. He’s tall. Has those big muscled arms. And when he carries me he looks at me. Really looks at me.
He stood up for me with his mother yesterday. He had a look of pride on his face when I stood up for myself with that media monster lady.
He tried to make a point with my parents the night before last by gushing about what he feels are some of my qualities.
He bought me the company I work for so that it’s mine.
And he’s insane. Obsessed. Dangerous. He’s put me through all sorts of mental turmoil after spying on almost every aspect of my life. And there’s what he’s done with Adam! And he all but admitted to being responsible for Adam’s uncle’s death, which caused Adam’s grandmother’s death! Having people held at gunpoint? Threats of forcing a cop to turn dirty?
Could I get him to go on medication? Would that help? Would that be a way to justify easing into this life in this dream house with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever been with? With the best sex I’ve ever had? With all those promises that make him sound like a dream husband? Would medication make him less dangerous? Would it also make him less… Derek? Because if he’s just another hot guy that’s not obsessed with me, would he be like most every other hot, rich guy out there that’s instead obsessed with themselves? Maybe he’d let me go live my own life if I got him on medication. Maybe he’d realize just how fucked up all of this is.
I pick my phone up and see a text message from him.
Gone to work early. Sorry, baby. Know it’s our honeymoon but I’ll take the rest of the week off. My turn to take care of dinner so don’t cook. I love you.
His turn to cook? A husband who shares the domestic load? A mythical creature indeed. Not unlike the mythical unicorns I was worried about being sacrificed when I lady-scaped for no good reason. Maybe there was a mythical creature meeting and they sent Derek to me so no more of their babies would dissolve.
Speaking of mythical creatures, I have two more sexy novels to read, and it’s been eons since I gave myself a whole day on a couch reading a book. I decide that’s what I’ll do. After coffee. After an Alannah catch-up.
While I’m showering, I can’t help but wonder what he’s going to do for me for dinner today. And that’s crazy. I can’t be entertaining these sorts of thoughts.
It's mid-afternoon and I’m lying on the couch with a fire going. Leaves are rapidly descending from their trees in the back yard. And this room would look absolutely incredible with a soaring Christmas tree. A real one. Filling the house with the scent of fir. I love that smell.
I’ve been enjoying my book, but I’ve been frequently assaulted with random thoughts or images to do with Derek, with a future. A future here in this house. One that has kids. That giant Christmas tree. Snowman-building. And me making dinner while watching him out back raking leaves into a giant pile and jumping into it with kids. And a dog, maybe. Not a purebred from a breeder, either. A rescue dog who gets his forever home with us.
Yeah, I’ve been crafting pie-in-the-sky fantasies today. And I feel a little stupid for it.